


Touchy Subject

by Quillinky



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Gen, Phase Two (Gorillaz)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:34:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillinky/pseuds/Quillinky
Summary: Some interviews could be a burden. [Phase 2]





	Touchy Subject

Interviews were a commitment Noodle wished she could do without.

They were more fun when she was a child, when her lack of English meant that not many questions were ever prepared for her to answer, she wasn’t expected to engage with many journalists on her own, and the boys talked more than enough for her. She could get away with not really understanding or listening to what was being said, unless she was touring her home country - Japanese publications and media outlets were always more eager to chat to her rather than her band mates, and she was more than happy to indulge them.

But she was older now, and much more wiser than when they had started out. And it seemed the interview questions matured with her.

She first noticed the change with a solo interview she had agreed to do, when Demon Days was beginning to rise to unprecedented levels of popularity. The journalist she was due to meet worked for a relatively new magazine that was unknown to her, but, after some home research, soon discovered that it had a rapidly growing readership amongst young music fans the world over, in print and especially online. After some deliberation, she decided to accept his interview offer.

The journalist was young, fresh-faced, and he greeted her to his offices courteously enough, but he gave off an air of self-importance, which was paired with a cocky and boyish attitude that would sometimes slip from behind his mask of overly-polite pleasantries. It somewhat soured her initial impressions of him, but she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, seeing as she had already travelled the distance to be there.

She settled on the edge of her seat, and mentally prepared some answers for the usual rehash of recycled interview questions that he was expected to ask.

_“What was the inspiration behind the new album?”_

_“How did you get your guest collaborators into the studio?”_

_“So, what’s the fixation with Clint Eastwood??”_

The tone of the interview changed, however, when the journalist diverted the questions down a more personal route, each one more audacious and condescending than the last.

_“Shouldn‘t you be in school rather than in a band?”_

_“An old, decrepit studios isn’t really a stable environment for a young kid, is it?”_

_“Don’t you think it’s a bit strange living with three old blokes who you’ve only known for a few years?”_

Noodle remembered having to keep her rising temper down behind a cool façade, choosing to ignore any grillings that weren’t relevant to the music, and keeping her responses short and sharp for any remaining questions he had for her. The fire in her belly didn’t quell until she had finished up the interview and silently left the building, satisfied that she didn’t have to spend a minute longer dealing with this interviewer’s arrogance.

She left for home feeling troubled, a little annoyed even that she had allowed herself to be so easily wound up by his comments. But she couldn’t believe how some people had the audacity to pry so brazenly for the intricate details of her private life, and be forced to discuss them with strangers who had no business probing for that knowledge.

She knew that it was an unavoidable burden, being a famous face in a highly-successful band - and a consequence of the parasitic celebrity culture with which she was unwillingly intertwined with, and had come to despise - but it still left a bad taste in her mouth. 

She could have put that particular interview down to one bad experience, had she not had others like it since. And it became apparent that awkward questions weren’t reserved for her alone, either.

She had witnessed 2D falter and stumble over his words with insulting statements about his level of intelligence, and Russel quick to turn cold when inappropriate jokes were made about the trauma of his ghostly possessions. Murdoc appeared to be the only one untouched, adept at deflecting the media’s questions and rude remarks, but even he, at times, would call out interviewers if he felt they were being too intrusive, even re-directing any questions he thought too indecent for her to answer towards himself, regaling them with tales of his own impropriety.

It was Murdoc, in fact, who came to her with the idea. 

It was a quick, convenient solution, he said. If these brazen journalists really bothered her that much, they could shake up the way they conducted interviews.

If anyone wanted an interview, let them come up to Kong instead - let them trudge up the steep terrain in shitty weather and battle their way through the hordes of undead to get to our door, that would filter out the weak ones for a start. If the interviewer was of good repute and they got on swimmingly, they’d let them go on their merry way. But if some of them were determined to push their luck, well…

What was the use of having your own personal hellhole if you couldn’t get some fun out of it?

The plan wasn’t to kill them, of course, he assured her, unconvincingly. Just knock them out, chuck them in the basement and give them a good scare. But if one or two of them regrettably found themselves tumbling down into the fiery pits of hell, well, that was an unfortunate accident beyond their control. Any that made it out alive would surely flee with their tails between their legs. 

If the coppers came knocking, or if anyone raised questions about missing persons, they could place the blame on Kong’s overwhelmingly insidious influence and the building’s treacherous surroundings. It wasn’t _their_ problem; One took their life into their own hands when they ventured up to the notoriously haunted studios, what with all the zombies, and demons, and phantoms lurking about. Murdoc made sure it was specifically stated in the waiver he made every guest sign before they entered his property. 

Noodle only wished Murdoc had told her this plan of his _before_ he decided to chloroform some American journalist who had just wrapped up an interview with them, and thrown them at the mercy of the hellhole.

The only good thing that did come out of Murdoc’s devious ploy - that they all unanimously took on board, as a band - was that they would change their format of conducting interviews. 

They rarely left the studios to speak face-to-face with unheard-of publications with journalists of unfamiliar names, instead choosing to converse over the phone, via web chat, or indeed, if they elected to hazard the trek themselves to Kong’s doorstep.

Noodle did not advocate Murdoc’s dangerous intentions for pushy journalists, columnists and writers. Sometimes, though, from the darker recesses of her thoughts, she would think back to the interview she did with the young, fresh-faced journalist with the superiority complex, and hoped that one day he might request a follow up.

Only, this time, she would invite him to Kong Studios instead. And on that occasion, she might just turn a blind eye if he inexplicably found himself flung into the fiery depths of hell.


End file.
